The Exiles

Wester Aberchalder
inland from the sea
south from the estuary
east from that steely coast of gulls and gritty
water, older
than its exiled peoples'
voices from the other side of ocean,
ousted from a land they did not own
evicted from their homes -
they cannot hear the curlews' call,
the owl's deliberate whirr,
at dusk the perfume
of the trees, 
oh resonant glen,
your mottled hills all spoiled
by trafficking in wood
for money.
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